Particular Hungers
by angel of the silver feather
Summary: Vampire AU. Will finds life, and the prospect of a lonely eternity that stretches out before him, to be terribly dull. That is, until he comes across a human who is far too tempting for his own good.
1. blood, death and darkness

This will be posted in nine chapters, with a a considerable time gap between the events of each chapter. Enjoy!

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><p>Blood, death and darkness.<p>

The scent is strong, _intoxicating _and Will nearly abandons the illusion of humanity that he maintains- has maintained for over a millennium- as a familiar thirst rises inside him, scalding his throat and sending borrowed blood rushing through his veins.

It is a struggle to keep his fangs sheathed as a warm hand closes around his own cool one, the faint feel of the human doctor's pulse under his skin combining with the heady aroma permeating the air to further test Will. The fact that he fed just yesterday and the girl's blood was still warming him from the inside seems so very insignificant in the face of such _temptation_.

"Dr Hannibal Lecter. It's a pleasure to meet you." The man tells him with a deceptively friendly smile that hides the monster underneath, not a true one like Will, but something that is utterly unique to the plague that is the human race.

A specific brand of madness.

"Agent William Graham. Will." He replies, voice betraying none of the turmoil inside him. He returns the smile with a smirk of his own as the doctor's hand leaves his. He shoots Jack a look over his shoulder and has to fight down laughter at the look of unadulterated relief on his face. He is so pleased that Will isn't being too difficult about all this and completely unaware that he was enlisting the assistance of someone who is most certainly one of the killers the BAU is so dedicated to hunting.

Will has seen too much in his time to believe in coincidence. So perhaps this meeting is another one of fate's games. She could be quite mischievous at times.

Still, Jack's reaction is understandable given how unenthusiastic and downright hostile Will was about this idea. He still is actually, but the utterly delectable scent emanating from the psychiatrist Dr Lecter has significantly altered his intentions within the span of a few seconds.

He's always been something of a slave to his _cravings. _

"I'll leave you to it then." Jack announces with a terse smile and disappears out of the waiting room before either of them can even react. He very carefully does not look at Will as he does so.

He shakes his head in mild exasperation.

"Shall we?" Lecter asks him, gesturing towards the office.

Will acquiesces with a curt nod and they head inside. He subtly draws in a deep breath as he passes by the doctor, savoring it properly now that the first shock of his thirst has passed. This time, he's able to identify the reason behind the extraordinary appeal of the scent and is genuinely surprised, something that doesn't happen often.

Hannibal Lecter is not the first cannibal he's encountered. But the last one stumbled across Will several centuries ago and though his taste was quite _remarkable, _ Will does not remember his scent being _this_ good, to the point of being overwhelming.

He stops breathing altogether for a while lest he lose his already tenuous restraint and quickly settles himself on one of the plush black chairs, keenly observing the human as he takes the one opposite Will. Even with his vivid imagination, he can't imagine Lecter savagely tearing into humans and gorging himself on their flesh. No, he has the air of one who would turn even cannibalism into something elegant.

_How lovely. _

It seems therapy isn't going to be as dull as he expected.

"What would you like to talk about, Will?" Lecter asks him, voice clam and friendly. It probably sounds sincere to humans but it's all too easy for Will to pick up the faint notes of boredom in it.

_I'd like to know why you eat people. And how. _ Will muses silently, wondering what if such a response would alleviate the human's tedium.

"I'm sure you are already aware that I don't particularly want to be here, doctor." He drawls, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and lets out a weary sigh that he's perfected a very long time ago. He doesn't see the need to mention how his opinion has now changed. "So I can't say I'm particularly interested in talking about anything. But for Jack's sake, let's discuss the incident that landed me here in the first place."

Lecter seems unfazed by his attitude and he's as calm as before when he speaks.

"And what incident would that be?"

"Don't you already know?"

"I would like to hear it from you."

"I killed a man." Will states before the other can fully complete his sentence and gets a slow blink in response. "We were chasing after a murderer- a serial killer- and I shot him. It was only meant to incapacitate but he shifted and it tore up his heart."

He's not lying. The shot was meant only to incapacitate. Guns were such a waste when there were so many other, wonderful ways to kill.

Lecter's lack of a proper reaction is enough evidence that none of this is news to him. And he's still bored.

What's to be done about that?

"You've never taken a life before." Lecter tells him, and the sympathy on his face is mild enough not to be annoying but convincing enough that most would not see it as the perfectly crafted mask it is. "That can be a very traumatizing experience. So, why do you think that you do not require therapy?"

_Because, human, I've killed more if your kind than I care to count. _

"I don't _think_ I don't require therapy, Dr Lecter. I know I don't. I'm neither traumatized nor drowning in guilt. I'm not happy I made a mistake but the only reason I'm here is because Jack won't let me return to work otherwise."

And he would like to return to work. Profiling for the BAU provides him with the most entertainment he's had in a very long time. It'd be pity to lose it.

Of course he's aware that his answers are hardly aiding him in that goal but he's much more interested in drawing a reaction out of Lecter than establishing his sanity. He has a feeling that this one's response will differ rather drastically from those of ordinary psychiatrists.

Something akin to interest flashes in Lecter's eyes and he leans forward just a little, finally focusing fully on Will.

He takes another deep breath, unable to help himself, and runs his tongue over his bottom lip as his canines ache with _need_ as his cannibal therapist's scent assaults him once again.

"That is an unusual reaction, Will. To treat murder so callously."

Will lets his lips curl into a small smile.

"Perhaps. But that doesn't change how I feel."

Lecter only nods in serenely in answer as if Will's answer was completely normal but he can see something not wholly_ normal_ peer out from behind dark eyes to regard Will with curiosity.

His smile blooms into a wide smirk.

"Tell me, Will, what exactly do you do for the F.B.I?"

"I catch killers." Will replies simply and bares his teeth in a feral grin before adding the rest, "By thinking like them."

And Lecter, he can see, is hooked.

The creature in Will purrs in pleasure.


	2. a strange fascination

Set two weeks after the first chapter.

Sorry about the length. The sole purpose of this chapter is to explain why Will hasn't gnawed on Hannibal yet. There's some back-story as a bonus.

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><p>Will has never had much respect for humans. His memories of his own humanity were practically nonexistent, washed away by time despite his body's resistance to its passage. It was the same for most of his kind. Sometimes, if he tried hard enough, he'd see glimpses of faces and lands; vague things for which he felt no residual affection. He doesn't really mourn its absence, not when he is so perfectly content with his monstrosity.<p>

The woman who'd turned him- Molly- was much more sympathetic towards humans and the disparities in their natures caused them to part a mere century after Will's becoming.

Throughout the years, there were a handful of humans that garnered his attention only to end up dead at his feet when his interest waned and was replaced by _hunger._

But Hannibal Lecter was _different. _

It's no longer simply about the scent though, because if that were the case, Lecter would be dead already. He doesn't know if it's the cannibalism or the psychopathy or the pure darkness in the man that _calls_ to him so strongly, but every single session with him is a trial for Will; the temptation to just tear into the graceful curve of his neck and gorge himself on his blood great enough to be a troublesome distraction. Lecter's attitude doesn't quite help matter either. His fascination with Will's empathy and uncanny ability to delve into the most depraved minds humanity has to offer often results in their conversations being purposefully led to morbid waters that does little to shift Will's attention from how it would feel to have Lecter go cold and limp under his hands and teeth.

And yet, he finds himself reluctant to kill the man just yet, not when his company is so exceptional when compared to the men and women Will has endured before. His interactions with the human are highly stimulating; Lecter's mind a sharp, brilliant thing driven by a dangerous sort of curiosity that leads men to do either great or terrible things. It's obviously the latter with the doctor but despite his expertise with killers, Will can't quite figure out this one. There is a story behind him, he's sure. After all, cannibalism is not a choice one makes lightly, not in this era. But though he can read Lecter to an extent, enough to see the emotions and reactions he keeps hidden under that meticulous persona, it's not enough for him to truly see the monster in the man. It's equally frustrating and fascinating.

He's not used to being so… conflicted.

The last time someone invoked a reaction even half this intense in Will was nearly three hundred years ago. Abigail was a sweet girl on the outside, her father's pride and joy. Inside, she was as hard as steel, concerned about ensuring her survival with a single minded focus that was rare enough in adults let alone a mere child. Will was impressed by her when he met her, intrigued actually for some time. Even then, he'd come perilously close to killing her before changing his mind. The decision to turn Abigail was impulsive, born of a curiosity to see how that small seed of darkness in her would manifest with her humanity stripped away from her.

She was grateful to Will, relieved at being 'saved' from her father Garret when he finally decided that killing lookalikes of his only child were not enough and turned on her. Although she was much less thrilled about her new existence forcing her to actually kill instead of just assisting in murder. But her ruthless practicality saw her through that _difficulty_ as well.

In Will's opinion, she adjusted rather well. Though he was- and still is- much less pleased about her decision to replace her dead human father with Will despite her fear of him.

But even that situation doesn't really compare to the present one. Of course, this will only ever end in Lecter's death one way or the other, but for once, Will is not sure how long it will be before that happens. His fascination only seems keep on increasing with every moment spent in the doctor's presence.

And so, as much as the most primitive part of him wants to just give in to his nature and just _take_, the rest of him wants to keep Lecter around for a while longer.

Frustrating and fascinating indeed.

Perhaps, he should simply wait and see where all this leads him, and enjoy the doctor's company while it lasts.


	3. a present wrapped in blood

Set 5 weeks after the previous chapter.

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><p><em>I sew his eyes shut while he still breathes, delighting in the sweetness of his screams. No one else will hear him. We're alone here; an artist and his canvas. <em>

_I tear him apart with practiced ease, slicing him open to take what I need. What is left will be elevated to art. Beauty from filth. _

_I am careful with him, every touch and cut orchestrated with minute focus. He will be perfect, even more so than usual. Because he is special. _

_He is a melody, a performance. _

_And a test. _

_Can you see me? _

Will's eyes flutter open with a faint sigh, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as pleasure curls deep in the hollow of his chest. It is often vexing, this process of immersing himself into human minds. More than once, he's been left with a foul taste in his mouth from how utterly revolting some of those minds were, driven solely by base instincts and lacking any finesse whatsoever. Of course, he's always rinsed off that taste with blood and fear and death. A truly lovely combination.

But then something like _this_ comes along and makes it all worth it, filling his mind with beauty so intense that he finds himself surprised that the hands which created it are human and not _Other. _

_The Chesapeake Ripper. _

A living nightmare that has terrorized Baltimore for years. A serial killer with a flair for the dramatic and the macabre.

Even behavioral specialists call him a monster. Will thinks he's a genius.

He hears Jack before he smells him and doesn't move from where he's standing in the middle of the field, hooded eyes fixed intently on the corpse tied to the tree a few feet in front of him, as the agent comes to stand beside him. But then, a second scent hits him like a lightning bolt, a familiar, rapacious hunger spreading through him like the sweetest of poisons.

_Lecter. Why are you here? _

Will turns and is not surprised to find two sets of eyes trained on him but his own are drawn to the imperial form of his doctor. Lecter smiles in greeting, a miniscule curl of thin lips that is entirely genuine unlike the generic expressions he wore during their first session.

"Is it him, Will?" Jack asks, his impatience evident in his tone. His entire body radiates tension. It must be so frustrating for him to have such a prolific killer haunting his turf.

"Yes, it's the Chesapeake Ripper. Finally showing up after over a year of absence. Quite the comeback too."

He's sure that Jack is far from pleased with his flippant praise but as usual, the man doesn't bother correcting him. He's long since given up on trying to control Will like the rest of his 'underlings'. But his attention remains resolutely fixed on Lecter, less because of the doctor's sudden presence in a crime scene than the dark glint in his eyes as he stares right back at Will, a faint smile still lingering on his lips.

That isn't entirely strange, given how curious the man is about what he refers to as Will's 'empathy disorder'- it is always a struggle to hold back his derisive snort whenever Lecter uses that term- but something tells him that there is more going on behind those murky brown orbs than a brilliant murderer's dangerous fascination with an ability that may prove detrimental to his very existence.

Lecter's gaze is _hungry; _ eager and intense in a way that makes Will want to- he stops that train of thought right there, sharply twisting away from the humans to focus on the body once again.

Will knows that the doctor's reaction is so obvious only to him, that were it not for his nature, he'd see nothing but professional interest in those glacial eyes. He shakes off the thought of how it'd be like to see that piercing gaze gloss over with pleasure before fading away into nothingness with some difficulty and forces his mind to interpret the reason behind it.

An idea starts to form and Will cocks his head to the side as he carefully takes in the ruined pile of flesh and bone before him.

The man was young, mid-twenties perhaps, and now barely recognizable as something that was once human. Eyes sewn shut, the skin of his arms and legs removed to expose the gleaming scarlet of his muscles, his entire torso split open and cleaned out, organs replaced with a variety of flowers.

Belladonna. Clematis. Foxgloves. Azaleas. Wisteria.

_Poisonous. Synonymous to how his killer saw his life. _

A performance.

And a test.

_Can you see me? _

If Will didn't have nearly thirteen centuries under his belt and the temperance that came with it, he'd have laughed to his heart's content then and there.

Or pinned Lecter to the ground and drained him dry.

Both are justifiable reactions, given this discovery.

His middle-aged, composure-personified psychopathic therapist with blood that _sang_ to him is none other than the Chesapeake Ripper.

And he performed for Will, to find out if his empathy could _see_ the macabre artist that lurked beneath that polished exterior.

_How sweet. _

"Tell me what you see, Will?" His reverie is interrupted by Jack, his timing as atrocious as ever.

"I will. But first, tell me what you're doing here Dr Lecter?"

"I'm here on Jack's behest." Lecter replies, utterly calm. "He thought a fresh perspective could be useful. After all, the Ripper seems to be quite elusive."

Will's gaze flickers to Jack's discomfited expression once before settling on Lecter. "Oh, he is. In fact, I'd very much like to know what coaxed him out into the open so abruptly."

"You have a theory?" Lecter's mask is perfect, the man visibly unaffected by being present in a crime scene of his own making. The sly, excited gleam in his eyes is hidden to all but Will.

"I think he Ripper was … inspired." He rolls he word on his tongue, softly caressing each syllable. "Something or perhaps _someone_ has caught his attention. This is a performance dedicated to the source of that inspiration. He's curious to see what reaction this will elicit."

Lecter's eyes darken ever so slightly.

Jack asks a few inane, predictable questions and stalks off to confer with his favorite protégé, Miriam, when Will's answers don't magically reveal the killer's identity. That man just couldn't appreciate the flawless precision and sheer brilliance of the Ripper's- Lecter's - design despite the fact that it was right here, before his very eyes.

Humans could be so pitifully blind at times.

Lecter moves a little closer to Will after Jack leaves and his voice reflects nothing more than mere curiosity when he asks, "Tell me, Will, how do you see the Chesapeake Ripper?"

_Narcissist. _

"He is a wolf among sheep." Will replies simply, simultaneously basking in the sweet torment of the human's scent and the darkness pulsing deep inside his soul. "An apex predator."

Lecter practically preens. Subtly of course.

_But there are always bigger and better predators out there, Hannibal Lecter. _

Will smirks at him and only just stops himself from baring a little _too much_ teeth.


	4. predator, prey who's who?

Set three weeks after previous chapter.

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><p>"I'm curious, Dr Lecter, about how much longer these sessions will have to continue." Will throws the human a quick look over his shoulder before turning back to gently trace the defined shape of an ebony stag statuette with the tips of his fingers. It's a rather lovely piece of work, one that's imbued a certain savagery into the creature.<p>

"Do you wish for them to end, Will?" Lecter retorts in a calm voice that effectively hides the displeasure Will knows the idea rouses in him. "I suppose it is not exactly necessary to continue. After all, you've already returned to the field and we are both aware of the fact that your mishap has not affected you in any worrisome ways."

_ Ah, but most would consider my utter lack of concern quite worrying. But of course, you're not most people, are you? _

As a matter of fact, no other psychiatrist would have allowed Will to return to work, not with the way he acted. Although, his behavior was one calculated to appeal to Lecter and draw his interest. And it worked quite spectacularly.

Will pretends to mull over the words for some time, inwardly amused at how Lecter behaves as if he will not try his damnest to find a way to get Will back in therapy with him if he were to opt out now. This one did love his little games.

He turns around so that he can see Lecter, sitting on his usual chair with his hands folded neatly in his lap, wearing an expression of neutral concern. Will's lips twist into a smirk, not missing the way Lecter's eyes track the motion.

"And if I want to continue?"

The other man blinks and while his face does not change, pure delight flickers in his eyes for a moment before it is hidden away. Will wonders if it's his empathy or the pale glimpses of his own true nature that he has allowed the doctor that has captivated the man so. Perhaps it is a mixture of both. The human desire to be understood can be quite a driving force, especially in those who are so unique that they are a world apart from their peers. And Lecter, for all his fascinating monstrosity, is very much _human. _

He's certain that it gives the doctor a great amount of pleasure to interact with Will, providing him with unconditional understanding, accepting his mind and its quirks with curiosity instead of revulsion, knowing full well that there is no one else in the world that will do the same. And Will supposes that if he were a human starved for _connection_, then that easy acceptance would have been more than enough to seduce him, to lure him towards Lecter like a helpless moth to a particularly bright flame.

But Will is not human, he will never_ feel_ the way humans can and what he has for Lecter is most certainly not the tender affection the man is probably hoping to cultivate.

And he wonders how Lecter will react when he realizes that he's been the prey all along.

"I am not at all averse to the idea. Although I must admit that these sessions now feel less like therapy and more like a series of conversations." Lecter says, leveling an expectant glance at Will, silently demanding an ultimately unnecessary answer to a question voiced as a statement.

Will decides to indulge him.

"I find it helpful to discuss the cases with you. Your perspective is interesting and… refreshing." Not wholly a lie. Lecter's mind truly is something. He would like to take it apart one day; wade into those cavernous depths and learn the intricacies of such a talented creature.

Lecter smiles, allowing some of his pleasure to show on his face this time around, perhaps fearing that no reaction would discourage Will just as the full extent of it would scare him away.

_Such fine control. What will you be like, I wonder, when I strip you of it all? _

"I am very glad to hear that, Will."

Will nods in response and lazily makes his way over to the doctor's desk, aware of the dark eyes that keenly follow his every move. With the way the man's eyes always seem to linger on him to the point of being _rude_, Will has to consider that Lecter's interest in him extends beyond just his mind.

That would be an interesting avenue to explore. One with such a delectable array of _possibilities. _

A drawing on the desk catches his eye and Will pauses to peruse it. He finds himself admiring a surprisingly accurate rendering of the Sistine Chapel, the glorious structure brought to life by precise strokes of charcoal. The details of the sketch almost perfectly match the ones in Will's memories, still pristine despite the fact that his last visit to Italy was nearly two hundred years ago.

_A man of many talents. _

Will doesn't take his eyes off the picture even when Lecter slides into place near him, his movements fairly silent for a human.

"I didn't know you could draw." Will says, tilting his head a little to glance at the doctor from the corner of his eyes.

"It's a very productive way of passing time." Lecter replies. Will wonders, with a great deal of amusement, how this man found time for such mundane hobbies amidst what must be a hectic schedule. He is quite positive that murdering people (and occasionally setting up elaborate displays with the bodies) in between his work and personal life must be quite time-consuming. And unlike Will, he's human, and must sleep at _some_ point.

His musing is interrupted when Lecter leans towards him and _sniffs_ him, not even bothering to be surreptitious about it. Will stiffens in a way that is unique to his kind, caught off guard by the strange gesture.

Will himself subtly scents the air and is immediately assaulted by the now familiar heavenly scent that _assures_ him that Lecter is completely human.

The needless confirmation only serves to add to his befuddlement over the doctor's decidedly abnormal action.

"Did you just smell me?" Will asks and whips around, an eyebrow raised in question, and finds himself face-to-face with a very confused Hannibal Lecter.

Said confusion is visible only in the miniscule furrow between his brows and the slight tilt of his head but on Lecter that is the equivalent of wide-eyed gaping. He quickly schools his expression though, much to Will's disappointment.

"Difficult to avoid," Lecter tells him, calm and entirely unapologetic. "I really must introduce you to a finer aftershave."

_You think you can talk your way out of pretty much anything, don't you? _

Will just shrugs and flashes him a sly grin, making no effort to hide his skepticism at the excuse. He _is_ curious to know what Lecter smelled under the lousy, but strong, aftershave that confused him so.

The rusty scent of fresh blood that always seemed to cling to the skin of his kind?

If only.


	5. a natural progression

Set 4 weeks after previous chapter.

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><p>There is unconcealed pride in Hannibal's voice as he describes the menu to Will in a blend of English and perfect French, not even a hint of false modesty tainting his words. He can't blame him, not when the smell emanating from the fare is so enticing, a variety of exotic flavors mingling into something wonderful at the hands of an undoubtedly skilled cook.<p>

Pity it holds no appeal whatsoever for Will.

He can appreciate the aroma and he imagines that humans would find it to be quite a luscious fare but none of it stirs even the slightest bit of hunger in Will. He knows that all of it will taste bland and flavorless to him, his palette evolved in a way that allows him to truly taste one thing only.

Blood.

He can ingest food but he cannot taste it nor will his body be able to process any of it. Eventually, it'll have to be removed from inside him, one way or another. It's all a terrible waste and fairly bothersome.

Yet, he accepted Hannibal's- it seemed ridiculous to continue to refer to the man as _Lecter_ when such increasingly intimate thoughts of him plagued Will day and night- invitation with little hesitation when the man asked him after one of their weekly 'therapy' sessions. It was an extremely unorthodox move on the doctor's part, bordering on unethical, but Will was simply amused, both by the offer and the not-so-platonic undertone to it.

If Hannibal wants to feed him human meat, then so be it.

The dinner itself is a dull affair owing to Will's nature but the company is anything but. Will eats the food that tastes no different from air to him with a smile and offers convincing compliments that brings a pleased tilt to the human's lips. But for Will, the real fun comes from watching Hannibal eat; it is quite the sight to behold and though he is sure that some of it is a deliberate performance for his sake, he appreciates it nonetheless.

He has always been somewhat enamored by certain visceral pleasures. And Hannibal is most assuredly not found lacking.

Will is quite eager to _appreciate_ him to the best of his ability, in more ways than one.

They wash the dishes together afterwards- Will insisting and not because of politeness- and it isn't long before lingering glances and inviting smiles shift into blatant flirting. Will has no doubt that Hannibal knows he is all too aware of the fact that he invited him over with every intention of seducing him. Still, he wonders how this extraordinary man would react if he were to realize precisely _what_ he is courting.

Will patiently waits until they're out of the kitchen before pushing Hannibal to the nearest wall and taking his lips with his own, curling a hand around the nape of his neck. Hannibal remains frozen for a moment, caught off guard, but recovers quickly to kiss him back, twining his arms around him.

He tastes like flesh and blood and sinful temptation.

Hannibal smirks against his mouth and he knows without looking that it is one of triumph, of having snared what he must assume to be prey. Will responds by pushing him further against the wall, devouring the smile off his lips.

He didn't originally intend to do more than kiss and leave the rest for a later date, in part curious to see what further steps Hannibal would take to lure Will to him, but this close the human's scent clouds his senses and he finds himself hungrily trailing his mouth down the other's chin to his neck, sucking and licking at the so very delicate skin there as if to taste the blood that runs so tantalizingly close underneath. Hannibal groans and tightens his hold when Will grabs a fistful of his hair to yank his head further back, exposing the graceful curve of his neck.

It would be easy- so easy- to take him right there, open and vulnerable and blissfully unaware of the way Will _hungers_ for him. So very easy to sink his teeth down into the flesh presented so eagerly to him. Hannibal wouldn't even feel any pain, would not even resist really; he'd enjoy it, caught up in the heady rush of endorphins triggered by vampire saliva. He would feel only, pure, mind-numbing pleasure right up to the moment he feels nothing at all. He would be _exquisite_, Will knows, far superior to any human he's had before.

And he is _ravenous_.

But then that would be the end. No more 7 'o' clock Friday sessions, no more morbid poetry on the inexplicable beauty of death, no more covert glances colored with a fascination so intense that it borders on obsession, no more Chesapeake Ripper, no more masterful tableaus. No more Hannibal Lecter.

Such a _waste_.

Will pulls back with a final nip, not an easy task by any means, and finds himself staring at a thoroughly debauched version of the perpetually immaculate man he has come to know. Hannibal's eyes are wide, pupils blown from lust and something like surprise and his face is flushed a pale red, lips swollen and nearly crimson. His collar and tie are skewed from how Will pulled at it to get to his throat and his neck is covered in bright suck marks that will bruise black and blue by the morning.

The sight affects him more powerfully than he anticipated and the hunger Will forced down rises with overwhelming strength and an entirely different course.

Ravenous. In more ways than one.

He isn't entirely sure who moves first- he's all but drunk on a myriad of sensations- but suddenly, they're back on each other, kissing with lips and tongues and teeth; a rough, graceless thing that only serves to feed his frenzy. Will grinds his hips towards Hannibal's, pleased to find him hard and happily swallows his human's gasp at the contact. It may not compare to the feast he is denying himself but Hannibal's mouth is addictive in its own right and he thrusts in deeper, his body and tongue moving in a harsh, furious rhythm that has Hannibal squirming in his grasp, the sounds escaping him raw and vulgar in comparison to his usual eloquence.

Will wants to devour this man. Over and over, until every inch of him is _his_.

The thought breaks through to his mindless rutting, not enough to give him pause, but enough to make him consider for the first time that Hannibal is _dangerous_ to him in a way that no creature has ever been before and is unlikely to be in the future. He stirs in Will a raging need to _possess. _

It is exhilarating, this knowledge, and Will's breath leaves him in a low growl as he sucks hard on the other man's tongue, his teeth scraping along the muscle. He draws back to press his face against Hannibal's cheek, catching his earlobe with his lips and tugging.

He truly did not expect the night to lead to the two of them pressed together like a pair of human teenagers (_he cannot even remember a time when he was that young_) in Hannibal's dining room but he's far too enamored by the carnality of the moment to care. Neither does Hannibal, it seems, not with the way he's clawing at Will and snapping his hips forward, lips peeled back from gritted teeth as he struggles to keep quiet.

He stills abruptly and splays a hand over the side of Hannibal's hips to stop him as well. He allows the human a moment to catch his breath before unfastening his pants with nimble fingers and shoving it down along with his underwear to free his erection.

Hannibal speaks then, voice low and husky, "Will, wait. The bedroom-"

His words are cut off by a strangled moan when Will starts to stroke him, running his fingers teasingly down the silky skin pulled taut over Hannibal's flushed length.

"Oh, you're not going anywhere, Hannibal." He breathes and the man's eyes flutter close when Will fists him and starts working him in earnest, smearing precome over the tip of the head. Hannibal throws back his head and arches into the touch, making more of those lovely noises that has Will stroking him even faster. He buries his head in the hollow of his throat, mouthing at his racing pulse, torturing himself more and more with his heady scent and the promise of bliss that lies _just_ beneath.

Hannibal comes with a bit-off curse (_Lithuanian? _), painting Will's hands and clothes with pearly white stripes as his fingers dig in hard to the clothed flesh of his back. He slumps forward after, clutching at Will and panting hotly into his ear. Will holds him securely and strokes his hair with a hand, greedily breathing in the combined scent of sex and blood. He's hard, almost painfully so, and the potent aroma saturating the air only serves to make his cock throb in need, his body demanding satisfaction at least in this.

He waits patiently until Hannibal's breath turns relatively normal before grabbing a fistful of his hair and pushing the startled human to his knees. Hannibal looks up at him, eyes still wide and black, lips red and parted sensually. It's a beautiful sight; one that makes him want to descend on the man with the full force of his _craving. _

Will doesn't say anything as he holds the other's gaze, still gripping his hair.

Hannibal keeps his eyes locked on Will's as he slowly, carefully pushes his jeans down to his ankles before leaning forward to press a kiss to the head of his cock. There's a hint of reluctance in his eyes, not at the act itself but at letting Will wield the control over their activities. Yet he's enjoying this as well and there is no real resistance in him, just a vague hesitance that is probably the result of a near-pathological need for _control. _ The moment he gives in is marked by his lips sliding over Will's cock, taking him in about halfway while still gazing up at him.

Will takes a moment to simply enjoy the view; Hannibal looks so much younger like this, with his hair falling forward in a sodden mess and his swollen lips stretched wide over Will's girth. His mouth feels amazing, hot and working expertly around the shaft inside. Will relishes the slow, torturous motions for a while, eyes half-closed in pleasure and sucking in mouthfuls of intoxicating pheromones, before he smiles down at Hannibal, tightening his hold on his hair in warning before snapping his hips forward, driving his cock into the kneeling human's mouth and down his throat in a single, smooth push. He ignores the way the man gags and sputters around him, ruthlessly fucking into his mouth with quick, hard thrusts, and his own eyes fully slip close at the wonderful sensations rippling through his body. He braces the hand not resting on Hannibal's hair on the wall, smearing the spotless surface with the human's ejaculate.

It takes a fair amount of effort to keep his true strength in check. Powerful as Hannibal is, human bodies are so very _fragile_ when compared to that of vampires. And he honestly does not want to break this man, not now, not when he's so-

Will throws his head back with a snarled scream as Hannibal rakes his hands down his bared thighs, blunt nails leaving behind red welts that heal far too fast for his liking. He continues to claw at Will with barely contained violence, his throat constricting rhythmically around Will's length.

He finishes soon after, his climax tearing through his body and forcing a ragged cry from him as he comes down Hannibal's throat.

He pulls out immediately, leaning more against the wall to regain his equilibrium. Hannibal remains on the floor, mouth open and gasping for breath. There are tears staining his face and he looks an absolute _mess_.

Will memorizes the image. He has a feeling he's not going to forget this sight any time soon. Not in the next millennium at least.

He drops to his knees alongside Hannibal and kisses him hard and deep, humming in pleasure at his answering groan. A part of Will, distanced from the pleasure thrumming through his body and mind, wonders if Hannibal noticed how his semen was somewhat cold when compared to that of humans and hopes it will not lead to any pesky questions that he may not be able to answer.

He releases Hannibal's mouth to lick at the tears drying on his cheek and finds himself disappointed that he cannot _taste _them. He pulls away with a final peck to Hannibal's lips and finds him watching with tired, half-closed eyes. His gaze flickers to the pale, inviting curve of his throat, littered as it is with _Will's_ marks. And in spite of his sated appetite, he finds himself working his tongue against the sharp tip of his canines, resisting the urge to let them lengthen into full fangs.

It seems like his decision not to kill Hannibal was not really going to change how much he _wants_ to. But that's alright. He has managed to contain himself so far. And he will just have to continue to do so.

He's about to get up and leave, though reluctantly, when Hannibal speaks, his accent thick and his voice rough.

"We should get cleaned up. Bathroom's upstairs."

Will smiles, surprised but pleased.

"Of course."


	6. carnal desires

Will likes to hunt.

Vampires are natural predators, one of the most dangerous in existence. With enhanced senses, strength, speed, uncanny intuition and the ability to heal from even the most fatal injuries, their bodies are the perfect weapons.

Which is why it makes so little sense that their intended prey are so _weak_.

Molly never did share his disappointment over this fact but perhaps that was because her 'kind' method of gently seducing her victims before draining them left both human and vampire sated, the former generally not even aware of what was happening until the very end. It was what she did to Will as well, though he was lucky enough to have enamored her in return, causing her to turn him instead of killing him. She did so hoping for a mate. Only, she was disappointed when the vampire turned out to be much less compatible with her than his human counterpart.

Abigail was on the opposite end of the spectrum, preferring to literally tear apart her prey, leaving behind nothing but ribbons of flesh and bones. He quite liked her method, the blind brutality a lovely contrast to her delicate appearance. He also found his 'daughter' to be rather beautiful covered in blood and gore, pale blue eyes glowing with manic fervor even after the red drained out of them.

However, Will has always found himself rather disinclined to employ either of these methods.

His proclivity lies in _hunting_ his chosen prey.

He makes it a point to find challenging quarry, turning the hunt into a game for them both, though he supposes that it is far from amusing for the unfortunate humans he picks. He does try to give them a fighting chance at least, not out of any desire to let them live but because he likes to_ earn_ his food once in a while instead of just _taking_ it. It's still far too easy though, the humans far too frail to truly put up a fight against him. But in his years, there have been a few that made the effort worthwhile.

_This_ is not one of those cases.

He generally picks his victims based on what he requires of them. Tonight, he wanted an approximation of a fight, not a game, and so he picked a thug, one who seemed marginally more intelligent than his peers. It was all too easy to knock him out and leave him in the middle of the woods on his property to wake up.

In the human's defense, he did try. After a few precious minutes wasted hurling curses and yelling at Will- who remained out of sight in the abundant shadows but made no effort to hide his presence- the man's fury turned into panic and he ran, strong legs eating up ground at a pace far too slow to make any difference to the one hunting him. Will chased him through the trees for a good ten minutes before he got bored and pounced. He was amused by the man's attempts to attack him with a long, rather sharp but ultimately useless knife and by the terrified, barely coherent threats that tumbled past his lips when Will broke the weapon in half with ease.

Now, with the brute pinned beneath him, his desperate struggles lacking the force needed to dislodge him, Will finds himself disappointed. He fought back, yes, but it was just not enough.

Too easy.

_Hannibal wouldn't be easy. He would be a true challenge, a worthy prey, _ whispers a treacherous part of his mind. The notion is as dangerous as it is seductive, especially in the light of Will's recent decision not to kill the doctor any time soon.

But once planted, it doesn't fade and Will's attention shifts away from the writhing man trapped under him as images of an entirely different hunt starts to form in his mind.

Hannibal would fight back with savage grace, abandoning his shroud of normalcy and civility to release the monster inside. Knowing him, he might actually manage to inflict some damage on Will. His lips twist into a delighted grin at the thought and his eyes slip close as he imagines the way he would hold Hannibal's body against his own, so similar to the way he's held the human during their many lust-driven encounters yet with the promise of death in the place of pleasure. He wouldn't rush it, would take his time savoring him. Perhaps, he would tell Hannibal how _good_ he smells, how enticing he is to Will, how magnificent his skills are and how _deeply_ sorry Will is that their association has to come to an end. He would kiss him at the end, taste the lips he's grown so fond of one last time before sinking his teeth into the delicate column of his neck.

And Hannibal, who would remain silent and seething until then, would cry out at that. Not in pain, never that, but in ecstasy as twisted biology forces him to feel overwhelming pleasure even as his very life is sucked out of him by a greedy mouth. Will would like to hear that, the sweet symphony of his screams when every insipid barrier in that brilliant mind is broken down and swept away. He'd like to hear Hannibal whimper helplessly, just once, before going still and silent in his arms.

Will can imagine it all, can feel these seductive thoughts snaking under his skin and sinking into his bones but no matter how hard he tries, he _cannot_ imagine the _taste_.

It will be exquisite, he's certain.

And quite unlike the warm but bland liquid that is currently sliding down his throat to fill his body with false life.

He pulls back from the man's throat, equal parts surprised and exasperated at himself for how lost he was in his construction that he killed his quarry without being wholly aware of it.

He fully rises of the human, resolutely keeping the tantalizing images lingering in his mind at bay, and is dismayed to find that he is hard.

He has never before been sexually aroused while feeding. Excited and invigorated but never _aroused. _

Will knows that he wants Hannibal as both lover and prey; but that his body's dual cravings would merge to the point of causing a glaringly obvious physical reaction at a time when he's feeding on some random human is almost shocking.

He should be worried by how mere thoughts of the doctor are affecting him so.

He truly should be.


End file.
